


A Long-Expected Party

by zilia



Series: Bar Fics [3]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Bar Fic, Crack, Deanie the Bar Otter, Gerald the Bar Manatee, M/M, Sex Toys, so much crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 20:51:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6024403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zilia/pseuds/zilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Valentine's Day in the Pinto Bar!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Long-Expected Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [satismagic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/satismagic/gifts).



> This will almost certainly make no sense unless you frequent The Pinto Bar (http://pintobar.tumblr.com/). It might not even make much sense if you do.
> 
> Happy (slightly late) Valentine's Day to my dear satis.

Gerald the manatee glided upside-down through his tank, his plastic bright pink heart-emblazoned party hat staying on his head thanks to the equally garish elastic, despite his best efforts to dislodge it. There really were a lot of disadvantages to having flippers instead of hands, sometimes. Deanie had slipped it onto him when he hadn't been paying attention, and then the little so-and-so had swum away too fast for Gerald to catch him and administer the correct admonishment. Now he was hiding somewhere else in the bar where Gerald couldn't catch him. That little furface really was _too_ much sometimes.

 

As Gerald floated and tried to ignore the indignity of it all, he became aware of a rhythmic thumping feeling, coming from the floor above, causing the water in his tank to pulse. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was unusual. He guessed it was to do with the barbaric human celebration symbolised by the distressing hat. Nobody had done much decorating in his room, because fortunately his glare still had _some_ effect (on those non-lutral inhabitants of the bar, at least), but he had heard them talking excitedly about _plans_ and _visitors_ and _ideas_ , and so he had managed to put two and two together and make the inevitable four. Deanie had been trailing assorted objects in and out for days, but they were too far away for Gerald to make them out clearly, piled in the corner of the room furthest from his illuminated swimming space.

 

He wasn't a _dim_ manatee, no matter what some otters might think. Or imply. Or downright _affirm._ His body might be smooth and stately and growing a little moss, but his mind was as swift as ever.

 

Just as Gerald was congratulating himself glumly on his intellectual acuity, the door to his room opened, and his two least-favourite people breached the sanctuary of his chamber.

 

 ---

 

" _Chris_ ," Zach said, in a voice which would have sounded serious had it not also suggested that he'd been drinking _a lot_ of cocktails. " _Chris._ We can't...not in here. Because...you know. Him." He gestured ineffectually towards the tank, where Gerald was very pointedly not looking at them.

"What, you think he'll mind? S'ok, Zach. S'not watching." Chris was only half-listening to what Zach was saying and expending the other half of his energy on enthusiastically kissing Zach's neck. Like Zach, he was also drunk, so like Zach, his aim wasn't particularly good, but he made up in determination what he lacked in acuity.

Zach was still torn. "I'm not sure, Chris..."

"What, you don't want an audience?" Chris leered, and Zach burst out into high-pitched giggles that probably only Chris found endearing.

"Nooooooooooo," Zach said, once he had recovered from his giggles. Chris was back to kissing and nibbling at him, but Zach forced himself to focus, and spotted, at last, a pile of what looked to be cushions and blankets in a corner of the room. He dislodged Chris, who slid away with a surprised slurping sound, and gesticulated at the heap.

"There," he said.

"What?"

" _There_ ," Zach repeated, "Stuff. Things. A place." Further words failed him, so he contented himself with more emphatic gestures, until Chris seemed to catch on.

"Oh. Yes. Cool!"

It seemed to take a long time to reach the corner, possibly because they weren't taking the most direct route, but rather meandering slowly and carefully so as to avoid the plethora of tables that filled the room. Once they got there, Chris sat down heavily and began pulling his boots off, while Zach examined the supplies in a bit more detail. There were indeed plenty of pillows and blankets, enough to protect their modesties from inquisitive marine mammals and their bodies form hard surfaces, but there was also a large collection of what appeared to be dildos, butt plugs (plural), condoms, chocolate sauce, and a can of whipped cream, plus many other things which looked like they'd be great fun to explore. Chris, once he'd gotten his boots off, was rummaging through some little sachets on one of the pillows.

"Oh, _awesome._ Flavoured lube!" he said, snatching up a packet and bringing it right up against his face to examine it. "Hey, look. Blueberry!"

"Your favourite," Zach said, not pausing in sorting the goodies into "yes", "maybe" and "no" piles, but Chris was gleefully tearing the packet open with his teeth. He tackled Zach to the floor, upsetting all of his carefully chosen stacks in his haste to get on top of him, and Zach resigned himself to what would surely be _hours_ of experimentation to establish some kind of definitive accessory hierarchy.

 

There was no better way to spend Valentine's Day, in his opinion.

 

 ---

 

Deanie paused outside the door to Gerald's room and listened intently. Whatever was going on in there, it was loud, and sounded enjoyable. He congratulated himself on a job well done. The stealing and hoarding of supplies from the bar's many closets and stashes had been the painstaking work of many months, and he was very glad to see that it had all been put to good use. Gerald wouldn't be happy, of course, but it was for the greater good. Deanie was sure he would understand, eventually. And, really, it wouldn't hurt to take that pompous old blubberbrain down a peg or two.

 

He scampered over to the door, where the sign THIS IS THE SEX ROOM was still hanging where he had stuck it earlier, although it was slightly askew, as though someone had been pushed up against it and thoroughly made out with. Standing on his back paws, he flipped it around so that it read DO NOT DISTURB. He eyed it critically to make sure it was straight, and then, when he was satisfied, he lolloped off to join the rest of the party.

 

It sounded like the room was going to be busy for some time.


End file.
